Safety Protocol
by RustyPaperclip
Summary: Butch is cuffed to the chair in Chief's room. Something's not right. This isn't protocol. (Rated M for mature language and themes.)


It has been a while, isn't? I found a half-finished piece of writing in my folders and so, between my crazy work schedule and life, I have managed to complete it. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Safety Protocol**

This blows.

Seriously.

What the fuck.

He huffs his hair off his face. Ahead, the guard, Danvers, glares at him and whispers something to the tall asshole who looks like he's got a fuckin bat stuck up his ass. She glances at him like she's disapproving him being here. Well, no shit, lady. Butchman wants nothing more than to get the fuck out of here too. You think he wants to stay in this room stuck on a chair? Butch clenches his hands and the cuffs cut into his wrists. Shit. These are tight. Maybe rusty too, just like the rest of this shithole he's wound up in. It's the last time he trusts Nosebleed. Yeah, sure, this place is the 'Vault of the Wastes, Butch. It's safe and protected'.

"Safe, my ass," Butch hisses under his breath. Sure he can't see the thing up there that creeps him out… but this place – it's like the people here are worse than the fuckers he left in 101. What's the deal with all these 'safe' places? There ain't no such thing as 'safe' is there? Chief Bat-up-the-Asshole frowns at him, while Danvers leans away. Her eyebrows are raised as she looks at him. Butch glares back at Chief because what the fuck? He ain't the one who started shit but he's the one who's stuck here cause Chief Asshole and his boat's got it in for him.

"DeLoria," Chief Asshole starts in that calm voice he has. It grates on Butch's nerves. He grinds his teeth.

"I ain't done shit," Butch replies through gritted teeth.

"Knock it off," is all Chief says before he nods at Danvers. Danvers walks past him, too far for Butch to follow as he continues glaring at Chief. Somewhere behind him, he hears the door closing shut. So it's just Chief Asshole and him now. He feels a little more caged and he stretches away. He fuckin' hates not being able to see the door. All he knows is that he's in an empty room. There's a bed here, a desk and a sink. There are two chairs here too. Butch is sitting on one of them – his wrists cuffed to its metal legs. In front of him, Chief is writing something on a clipboard next to the desk. The way he's ignoring Butch is annoying as hell.

"You knock it off," Butch snarls, his reply late. He huffs again. Chief glances up from his writing. Tilting his head a tiny bit, he peers down at Butch. Doesn't blink. Then, he drops the clipboard onto the table with a bang. The sound makes Butch wince. Next, the security chief pulls off his rifle and places it onto the table too. Huh. So, that's how it is. Chief Asshole's gonna try interrogating him. Sure. Whatever. Walking over to Butch, Chief drags the other chair close and sits in front of Butch. Fuck. He doesn't like this. It's too close to Security. Butch leans back and away, lifting his chin in defiance. Chief puts both hands on his knees and peers at Butch. Stares at him.

"It wasn't a smart thing what you did," Chief says and his voice is all rough. Deep. Worse when it's just the two of them in here. Butch doesn't say anything in reply. He jerks his hands instead and the metal cuffs hit against the chair with a loud _clang_, letting Chief know that he'd really like to punch him right now. Plug his fist into his calm face. Break his nose. Break his jaw and all his perfect teeth. A little hint of a smile passes Chief's face.

He leans forwards. Closer. And closer still. Butch feels a prickle up his neck at the decreasing gap but he holds his stand. He ain't about to lose to this fuckin' security chief. He's stared enough security guards down in his time in the Vault. Butch's about to goad him when the Chief's eyes dip downwards. The fuck? They roam over Butch in different places. His face. His knees. His feet. And his collar. That – He can't help but shift a little backwards. Then Chief looks back to his face and parts his lips.

"It's interesting how you think you still have the upper hand here." Chief looks down at Butch's boots. "You might think you're some kind of bigshot in the Vault but out here…" Chief trails off. He leans back and meets Butch's gaze. "No one's going to hold back on you."

"Yeah?" he says. There's blood on his lips. He can taste it now when he speaks. At the back of his throat, he can still taste a bit of that sickly sweet scent he smelled just now. He swallows. Looks away for a moment. He feels trapped but he sure as hell won't go quietly. "Well, it ain't a fair fight if you got me tied like this. Just sayin'."

"Are you trying to fight me?" Chief raises an eyebrow. The amusement that could've been there is gone. "Not enough fighting in one day for you?" Butch shuts his mouth. He continues staring at Chief from under his messed up hair. The vision in his left eye is a little blurry. He shuts it too. Dammit. What the hell did that fucker do to his face? "I'm not the enemy here," Chief continues and Butch opens his eyes to see him glancing past him to the closed door. Butch doesn't believe his pretty words. Not one bit. His gaze returns to Butch and for some reason he looks concerned. Butch doesn't believe that face too. "This isn't protocol, you know. That's why you're in my room."

No way. This is Chief's room? He _lives_ here? Why does it look so empty? Butch looks at the empty picture frame on the wall. Another one on top of the desk. This bastard's got no friends or something? "Rivet City throws criminals off the ship. Sometimes they're dead. Sometimes not. There are no holding cells. No jails." He gives Butch a tight-lipped smile. "You sitting here and chatting in my room isn't protocol." Well, shit. "So, I'd co-operate if I were you. I'd rather not throw you off the ship when it's dark out."

That's why this bastard's got no friends.

"Co-operate?" Butch repeats because he sure as hell ain't asking what Chief wants with him. He knows what's coming.

"Yes." Chief crosses his arms, all-business. "Let's start from the beginning. Why were you in the restricted dock of the ship?" Butch cringes. This routine is too familiar. It's like he's in the vault again. All security chiefs gotta be assholes when they wear the armour. But this one's probably the worst.

"Hey man, if it ain't locked, it ain't restricted," Butch drawls out of habit.

"Are you saying that you picked the lock?" Chief frowns.

"Just cause I can don't mean I did. I don't even know what the fuck you're talking about." He doesn't. "What the hell is restricted?" Chief sighs sounding like he's already frustrated. His eyebrow twitches.

"It means only authorised people are allowed in there," he explains like he thinks Butch is stupid.

"I ain't stupid, man. I know what it means." Butch wants to kill him a little more. "How the fuck would I know what's - I sure as hell don't remember goin' through…" Butch's voice trails off. His head hurts. He shuts his eyes against the throbbing in his temples.

"What do you remember?" Chief pushes.

"Fuck, man, gimme some time, okay?" Butch swallows. That sweet taste is still there. He coughs. What the hell is it? He can't get rid of it. Whatever. So… restricted? Chief says he got into a restricted place. He didn't break into any of them, did he? He's only been here four days. He don't know shit. At the back of his mind he senses the air has changed. He doesn't open his eyes. He starts when there's a touch on his shoulder. He almost jumps out of the chair but for the damn cuffs.

In front of his face, Chief is holding out a glass of water.

"Want some water?" he asks, motioning the glass. Calm. Butch gapes at him.

"What?"

"Do you want some water?" he repeats in that same calm tone. Is this guy for real? Butch looks at the glass of water. It looks… He realises that his throat does feel dry. He licks his lips. Dammit.

"Are you trying to poison me?" he murmurs. Chief makes a sound in his throat in disbelief.

"Are you seriously asking me this?" Butch peers up at him. Chief peers down at him. They stare at each other until Chief lowers the glass. Turning away, he walks to the desk and places the glass of water on the table with a thud. Yeah. He's definitely trying to poison Butch. Security is all the same. All Chief Asshole is in interested in is –

He picks up a bottle of water from the table. Then, he turns again and walks to Butch. He uncaps the bottle of water in front of his face with a 'pop'. It's an indication that this here's a new bottle. The water sloshes in the bottle when Chief gestures at it. Butch peers at the bottle. Looks clear. But…

"You didn't say 'No'," Butch argues.

"I carried you here," Chief says evenly. Butch flinches at the memory. "I won't put in that much effort if I wanted to poison you." Chief brings the bottle closer to him. Staring at the newly opened bottle. Butch raises his lips until they touch the rim. Then, Chief tips the bottle. Water, clean and purified, pours into his mouth and Butch swallows. His throat forgives him a little. His body relaxes a little, sucking in the refreshing taste. Chief doesn't drown him in the liquid or pulls away when he's still drinking. He keeps the bottle tilted until Butch's had enough. Then, the bottle is gone and Butch is licking his lips again, feeling a bit more human.

Chief heads back to the table and puts the bottle down. He picks up the previously offered glass and downs it all at once. So, no poison then. He wipes his mouth as he faces Butch and leans on the desk. The way he stares at Butch is a little too intense. Why would this guy, a fuckin' Chief of Security, give him a drink if he thinks Butch is a criminal? What the hell is going on?

It makes him think ... The words said into his ear – just now – when he was caught – were they – did they mean - That made a shiver go up his spine. Fuck. If this is who he thinks it is then… fuck. He looks up at the Chief who's still leaning at the table. He pushes the thought to the back of his mind. For now. He's got an interrogation to get through.

"Where are you staying?" Chief asks. Too easy.

"Muddy Rudder."

"Belle Bonny's letting you stay in the backroom?"

"I'm paying her rent," he blurts out because he doesn't want him to think that Butch is a freeloading sack of shit. Sure it's 1 cap a week but he's the one who insisted on it. He's found out it's not easy to survive out here and it's not easy to find a smiling face. Chief nods at him.

"What does 'Tunnel Snake' mean?" Butch stares at him, waiting for his mouth to decide if he wants to answer. His lips feel slick.

"It's the name of my gang." Chief Asshole looks like he wants to pounce on that but Butch interrupts him. "But there ain't no gang out here." It actually _hurts_ to say that, to remind himself that he's alone. He looks down at his boots, sees how much it's covered in grime, rust flakes, scratches and water. The last time he polished it was on his own cot in the Vault, thinking about how he's gonna make a fucking 'impression', to hell with everyone. Whatever, right. It ain't like anything's changed. He's still the first person security sees when shit hits the fan even though he didn't start any of the shit. Yeah, yeah. Nothing he can't handle, right?

"Why did you leave the vault?" Oh. This one's a little too personal.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Butch meets Chief's stare. Said Chief Asshole walks back to him and takes the seat in front of him. It takes him more willpower to stay where the hell he is.

"I just want to see if you're telling the truth." He doesn't even push when Butch doesn't answer his question.

Butch wants to tell him that he hates him for that. And he's just like every security chief he's ever met. Like the Chief Hannon in the Vault. Like that cowboy in Megaton. Man, that one was a letdown because he looks kinda cool. The ones he met along the way from wherever to Rivet City. But the thing is, Chief Asshole here opened a new bottle for him to drink. Is this guy for real? "Why am I here, Chief?"

"You tell me." Chief straightens up in the chair, observing him again. His eyes narrow as they focus somewhere along his chest. Chief takes a breath. Butch leans back a little, away from the gaze. "You and Bear were found in the restricted dock, fighting. You broke his nose, DeLoria." So, the brick wall is named Bear. He kinda looks like it too, actually. Like the bears in the picture books back in the vault. Butch is glad he broke the bastard's nose. "When we broke up the fight, you were yelling that I got it wrong." Chief's gaze sprang up to his face. "All I want to know is what you were doing in the restricted dock, why you broke my guard's nose and what did I get wrong?"

"What did the jackass tell you?"

"Bear? That he caught you sneaking around in the restricted area. You wanted to cut him with your switchblade." Fuck. His toothpick. Damn this. They have his toothpick.

"Where's my toothpick?" Butch growls. If anything happens to it, he's gonna – Fuck. "It better not be-" He jerks his hands in frustration. Glares at Chief.

"It's with Lana in her safe," Chief states. "We'll give it back when we're done here. Maybe." Butch hisses. "When I'm satisfied." The word cuts through him.

"I didn't even touch it, okay. The fucker grabbed me. I didn't have time to do shit," he snarls. "I ain't in some restricted fuckin' place when it happened," he yells.

"What happened?" Chief looks at him, interested.

"What's it to you?" Bastard. "It ain't like you're gonna believe me." Cause the broken-nose Bear is a fuckin' security guard and Butch is a nobody. "You already got your story from him."

"You're telling me the truth so far." Butch raises a brow at him. Stares at him.

"You sure about that?" Butch goads him, digging his fingernails into his palms.

"I know." Chief says without pause and leans towards him. Stares him dead in the eye. "Keep talking, DeLoria." Butch keeps that stare level. He doesn't trust this guy. He doesn't. He licks his lips. Swallows. It's that aftertaste again, fading but still there. Chief follows that motion with his eyes.

"You said you weren't in the restricted dock. Where were you then, at 2 in the morning? Why weren't you in the Muddy Rudder?" If it's a story Chief wants, he's gonna get it. Butch huffs.

"Can't sleep." Truth is, he can't sleep easy since the rebellion. Out here, it gets worse. He's jumping at every sound thinking it's someone trying to get him. So, he's been walking the hallways at night until he's exhausted and then he comes back to fall into the cot at the Muddy Rudder. "I was just… takin' a walk. Middle deck," he adds.

"A walk?"

"What? You don't believe me?" Butch counters, daring Chief Asshole to call him out. Waiting for it, actually. Chief just shrugs.

"Guess I thought you'd choose to get a drink if you can't sleep. You're in the bar after all." Yeah, the Butch-man would like that but that's gonna take caps he can't spend much of right now. What if he has to leave – The thought makes him anxious. He doesn't want to leave, really. In here's better than out there. He's been running way too much. The thing up there creeps him out. And if he squints hard enough, this place is more like a vault than any other place in the Wastes other than Vault 101. But he's not gonna go back there to the vault. He's months away from the other side of the state. _He's not gonna go back there._ Chief fixes him with the stare again and tells him "Carry on."

Butch waits a while before he speaks. "Someone jumped me." He can't tell if Chief is seriously listening or just stringing him along. "I mean, I heard footsteps. Don't think it's anythin' – I was just walkin', man. Next thing I know, I wake up and we're wrestlin' –"

"Slow down. You just made a huge leap." Chief lifts his hands and clasps them together. They're large hands. "You wake up. What do you mean you wake up?" Chief tilts his head. "When did you fall asleep?"

"Told you, man. The fucker jumped me."

"How did you fall asleep from that? Did they knock you out?"

"He…" Butch shakes his head. It clears away the throbbing for a moment. "…grabs me from the back. Covers my face with some kinda cloth… that smells…" He still tastes it. "…sweet." Butch grimaces at the memory. "Hey man, I was fightin', okay. But I can't fuckin' see nothin' and the guy's just strong as hell. Then, it's just black." Butch frowns at the recollection. Should've fought harder. "Think I passed out." He did pass out. Fuck.

"What next?" Chief's voice shoots through his head. He stares up at him who's waiting for him to speak. "You wake up?"

"I wake up and I'm on the floor and we're outside but kinda not. Like there's a dock and water or something but my head hurts and my mouth feels funny. I wanna get up. Then someone tries to choke me."

"Strangle you, you mean?"

"Nah. Choke me. With a belt."

"A belt?" Chief repeats and his frown deepens.

"Yeah." Chief nods like he's finding it hard to believe. "Hey, man. I'm tellin' you what happened. It's a fuckin' belt, alright."

"Carry on."

"So, he's about to choke me and I ain't gonna take that shit. So I bang my head up. The fucker lets go. I get up. Turns out it's that Bear guy and he's holdin' on to his face. I fuckin' kick his ass until you show up. You know the rest."

In front of him, Chief doesn't say anything. Just looks at him. Scrutinises him. It's a little unsettling. He stares back at Chief. He doesn't know if Chief believes everything he's said. They stay like that for a long time before Chief takes a deep breath. "You know that that's a very different story from what Bear tells me."

"Sure," Butch scoffs. Of course. Yeah, he knows how this can end. Butch shakes his head. Chief leans closer.

"Can you tell me who grabbed you in the middle deck?"

"I told you. It's the Bear guy."

"Bear?" Chief narrows his eyes. "HE said he found you in restricted dock." Butch snorts.

"He didn't_ find_ me there. He _brought_ me there." Chief raises his brows.

"You say the person grabbed you from behind. Covered your face with a cloth. You can't see anything. How do you know it's Bear?"

Butch freezes.

Fuck. He's caught. Butch looks away. "DeLoria."

"It's him," he repeats under his breath. It's all he's offering right now because he still can't trust Chief.

"If you can't tell me how or why, then I have no choice but to take Bear's testimony as truth." Chief stands up then like there's a sense of finality. He's bowled over by the possibility of being thrown out the ship. His chest bursts at the thought. "There are holes in your story. There's no belt at the scene. I can't prove one way or the other but if you don't give me– "

"His voice," Butch blurts out. He still doesn't look up. His body tenses as he recalls the incident. He still feels the arms holding him down and hears the filthy words said into his right ear. Threats. Comments.

"He spoke to you?" Butch nods. "You recognise his voice?" He feels Chief return to the seat in front of him. "What did he say?" What Bear said – Fuck. Then, the thought he had pushed away comes back to the forefront of his mind. This is what Chief wants isn't it? They're all in this together. Butch raises his eyes.

"He said he'll throw me off the ship."

"Now that's a lie," Chief points out. He hovers above Butch, standing again. And it's suddenly intimidating. He's aware of how much he's not on the upper hand right now. And for the first time since being dragged into the room, he gets it. He gets why the fuck he's here. The realisation grabs him. "I can stay here all night until I get the truth. What did he say?"

Bear told him exactly what's expected of him just now. Exactly 'what the Boss likes'. He doesn't want to get to that at all. Yet, he doesn't want to get thrown out too. He crossed the Wastes to get here but after this stop, there ain't nothin' but water for miles. Butch turns his face away. He feels his cheeks heat up. Butch grits his teeth.

"You'll like this new gift he's givin' you." The words make his skin crawl. "He said that Vault kids are sure to be clean and tight." Butch repeats the things he heard. His stomach squeezes itself as he continues relaying the words from memory. "He said that I've got… a pretty mouth," Butch spits out. "And that if I wanna stay, I better be a good little… toy and obey everything you tell me to do."

Silence.

Butch turns his face to look at Chief. He's unmoving. Just staring down at him. Eyes wide. Chief parts his lips.

"What did he say?" he asks again.

"What? You get a kick out of me saying it again?" He jerks his hands. "Cut the crap. I know what you want from me." The moment he says it, he regrets it. He slumps down in the chair. "I told you –"

His breath hitches when he feels the rough fingers slide down his jaw and cups his chin. He wants his body to struggle but that grip is tight. His chin doesn't even slip a little from the grip. He's really… He knows when he's already lost. He shivers. Shit. He's had enough of today. He's too fuckin' tired of these stupid mind games that he's never gonna win. Slowly, gently Chief tips his chin up. His touch feels like fire walking on his skin. He hates that it's gentle, that it's considerate and kind. His body reacts to it. It hasn't felt this in a while. Butch hates himself. Butch stares up at Chief's face. There's no predatory gaze or anything on his face. His expression is guarded. Is this just a business thing? He just stares down at Butch. Then again, why won't it be a business thing? He tips Butch's face to the side and then he's touching his Tunnel Snake collar. Butch swallows a curse, when fingertips tug on the zipper of his jacket. He grits his teeth and shuts his eyes, listening to the metal teeth of his zipper retracting. His shoulders hurt from holding back. Tense from trying to be calm. Trying to not fight because he doesn't know how fast this will start to hurt. He's trying to think about other things but he can't. Chief is touching his Vault jumpsuit now, unzipping that as well. The flash of cool air washes over his exposed throat and Butch gulps. His heart races. He knows that Chief can probably see his crazy pulse, beating wild under his skin. When his fingers touch Butch's bare throat, he hisses. They slide downwards to the hollow of his throat. Suddenly, a flare of pain rushes up his neck. Fuck. What the hell was that? His eyes fly open at the sting.

"His exact words," Chief presses and his voice is deep and smooth, eyes dark. Butch takes a deep breath.

"He called you 'The Boss'," he replies fucking obediently. "The Boss will like this new gift I'm givin'."

In the next moment, Chief is walking away. He heads to the desk and picks up some things. He seems to be in a hurry. Butch tries to keep his breathing even, feeling the ghost of that gentle touch on his skin. The sting has faded away. He sees Chief walk towards him as he straps on his rifle.

"Stay here, DeLoria," he orders gruffly. He walks off. Butch hears him open the door then shut it.

"It's not like I have a choice," he says to the empty room. His voice is thick. The ghost of the touch is still moving on his skin, under his collar. He leans forward and hangs his head, looking down at the ground. He takes a deep breath. Well, shit. What the hell has he gotten himself into? His mouth is dry. He licks his lips. He can't seem to get away from the feel of the touch on his skin even as he strains against the tension in his shoulders. He wriggles his wrists in the cuffs, looking for some leeway but the metal is tight and he feels it cut into his flesh the more he struggles. He gives up. Whatever. He just basically whored himself out anyway, didn't he?

Nosebleed did say that this might happen, didn't he? That sometimes, people want more than caps as payment. So what if a security chief is a piece of shit like this? Ain't nothin' different. People are people. But man, bad is one thing; evil is another.

Thing is… he never thought he'd be here, even considering doing this. He can't decide if he's gonna run the moment the cuffs come away or lie down if Chief Asshole asks him to. He doesn't know how fast he can run – or how far he can last without anymore fucking bullets or a fucking pistol. He doesn't even have his toothpick. He doesn't know what it will be like if he tries to attack Chief when he comes back. Chief Asshole is the one who stopped the fight, pushing them both apart, pulling Bear away like he weighs nothing when he's built like a brick wall. He's the one who hauled Butch off like nothing. Even if… if he manages to somehow make it out of this shithole, what then? What if he's out there again and some _raider_ thinks about givin' him as a gift to _their_ boss. They're the worst. The crazy ones. In here… at least there's a fuckin' bed with a mattress. At least Chief Asshole looks like he takes a shower sometime in the past week. At least Chief Asshole has the decency to be gentle –Fuck… shit. He's… ashamed that he's even considering this. He closes his eyes to see the vault and the walls and remembers the way it smelled clean in spite of the rebellion. He feels the compact mattress of his cot. The taste of a proper fizzy drink and Old Lady Palmer's sweetrolls.

Suddenly, he feels the cuffs spring apart. He's a little startled until he lifts his head and realises he's actually dozed off. Damn it. Chief walks past him, smelling like iron and musk, to the desk and Butch can hear him placing things on the table. When he looks up, he sees Chief unstrapping the rifle to dump on the table.

"Wash up. Then, get on the bed."

Well, that's it. The decision is really… out of his hands.

Butch rolls his shoulders and stands up. He feels his muscles pull when he gets on his feet, body aching horribly. Glancing at Chief, he sees that Chief's unclasping his armour. Then he pulls his shirt right off his body. Shit. They're really doing this. Fuck. He can't get rid of the mix of fear and anticipation that courses through him.

Looking away, he heads to the sink to rinse his mouth, wash his hands, his face. He tries to get rid of all the blood on his jaw, his knuckles. He can't see the mess that he looks like because there's no mirror. He sees his reflection in the dark screen of the pipboy. He doesn't want to take off his pipboy. Or his jacket. He cleans under his nails. It's quiet when he turns off the tap. Dragging himself to the bed, he sits down and looks at his feet. The mattress is very soft under him. How many people have slept here? Butch glances up at Chief again. He's sitting on the other chair at the desk and he's… pushing around some papers. All Butch sees is his back, light shining over the muscles and scars he sees there. Chief's dark hair's wet too. Shit. The asshole took a shower didn't he? Fucking hell.

He spends some moments just staring at the naked back, head whirring about what this is gonna be like. Sure, he's done stuff before. He ain't gonna walk around with one hand tied behind his back. But man, that was in the vault. Chief was gentle before and even though he hates it – he prefers that. Prefers that so much more than… Butch clears his throat and finds his voice.

"So..ain't you… gonna… y'know come here too?" he asks, feeling heat in his cheeks as his mouth forms the words. He doesn't take his eyes off Chief, who cranes his neck to Butch but doesn't look at him, like he's catching his voice in his ear. Moments later, he turns. He stares at Butch. An intense deep stare.

"You have a cut on your neck," he says. What the hell? Really? Butch's hand fly up to his neck, feeling around until he touches a dry surface just under his Adam's apple. When he scratches it off, he feels a sharp sting. It's a cut alright. Across from him, Chief is watching him with eyes that are too bright. Butch sees him lift up something from the tabletop. He recognises it.

"That's the belt he tried to choke me with." It's bigger than he remembers it. "Thought you didn't see it."

"I didn't." Chief stands up, carrying the belt with him. He approaches Butch on the bed. Instantly, Butch stiffens. He tries not to move away until Chief hands him the belt. He takes it by reflex. It's actually made of metal. It's heavy. There's a bit of a square panel on one side like a belt buckle but there's some sort of red circle. It looks ugly as hell. And it's wet. "It's not a belt," Chief says. "It's a collar."

"Collar?" Butch looks it over.

"Have you heard about Paradise Falls? They use this collar to keep slaves in line. Once it's activated, if you leave the Falls, that thing will explode." Butch freezes in the middle of turning it. "It's not working now, though."

"You said you didn't see it."

"It wasn't there." Chief takes back the collar and returns to the desk. He places it there. He hears it thud on the desk. "It fell in the water."

Shit.

"Chief," he calls out. He realises that it's the first time he's ever called him that. Chief stops in his steps and looks at him. "What the hell just happened?" Butch asks. Chief makes his way to the chair, brings it over to the bed and sits down. He observes Butch, then speaks.

"Many people come to Rivet City. Sometimes they stay, try to make a place for themselves here. But sometimes they pack up and leave. Not that they're wrong for doing that. Our ship's not perfect – a few things could use improvement. But the thing is, no one ever sees them leave. One day they're here, the next day, they disappear. All their stuff's gone. Vanished. Guards on duty never see them cross the bridge. It doesn't happen too frequently and they're newcomers… not everyone knows them yet." Chief shakes his head. Stares at Butch. "But Crazy Wolfgang said something interesting the last time he came."

"Who's this Crazy guy?"

"A travelling merchant." Chief rubs his face. "Wolfgang says he spotted one of our newcomers with a collar around her neck, running to slave country with her clothes wet; she must've swam from here."

"Are you sayin'…" Butch can't even finish the sentence. "That fucker – did he…"

"Someone had been smuggling people from Rivet City." Chief cursed. "I just didn't think it was Bear." His eyes met Butch's. "We searched his locker. Found some chloroform. A letter addressed to the Boss, Eulogy Jones." Butch feels like he's about to puke. He takes a deep breath. Then, takes another one. The fucker tried to collar him. Tried to smuggle Butch. Tried to make him a slave – a fucktoy. He narrowly escaped that fate. If he hadn't… If this guy hadn't been there to pull them apart... Because in his head, he can't deny that Bear was strong as fuck. Any minute longer, he'd be dead. Any minute longer and… He almost… His hands shake.

"I'm gonna kill that sonuvabitch," he exhales.

"Too late, Deloria," Chief says. Butch stares up at him. His gaze is somewhere faraway. "He rushed me. I threw him overboard. Not sure if he was still breathing by then." It's then that Butch sees that Chief has a bruise on his left temple. It's then that he hears that regretful tone of his voice. It's then that he realises just how fucked up this all is. Before he can say anything else, Chief stands up. Walks away. Looking over his shoulder at Butch, he says "He underestimated you. He didn't count on you fighting him back. Good thing you did." Then he faces the desk again and sits down, showing his back to Butch once again.

Butch hugs himself. The relief that washes over him takes whatever's left of his resolve. He's had enough of today. Butch kicks off his boots while unclasping the pip-boy off his arm. The screen goes dark. He unzips his jacket, throws it on the space next to him. He hesitates for a moment before unzipping the jumpsuit too. He's down to his shirt and vault-issue shorts when he lies flat down on the bed. Fuck. This bed feels good on his tired body. He lets slip a sigh and watches Chief at the table. He sees Chief's naked back, his long legs stretching out under the table. The discarded wet clothes are on the floor and the light shines on the exposed skin. It's like he's not even bothered by Butch in the same room.

"Hey," he calls. "You sure you don't wanna join me?" Butch says, just to see what his reaction is. He knows he's pushing it, but he has to know before he shuts his eyes. From the desk, Chief taps on something and replies evenly.

"It's fine. You can take the bed tonight."

"You sure? The last time I spent the night with a naked guy in the room, we weren't sleeping, y'know." There's a pause before Chief looks over his shoulder at Butch. Then he turns back to the table.

"Get some rest, Tunnel Snake," he says. With that, he shuts his eyes. He falls asleep instantly.

When he wakes, it feels like he hasn't moved in a century. It's like he sank in the bed and can't get out. Damn. His head has stopped throbbing. His body feels… actually well-rested. It's been a long time since he woke up like this. He stretches, feeling his bones align. He sighs. Across the room, Chief is still sitting at the desk. It looks like he hasn't moved too. He's still writing. What time is it?

Butch sits up. His pip-boy tells him five hours have passed when he clasps it over his arm once more. Pulling on his jacket, he adjusts his clothes. He puts on his boots. Slowly, he stands and tension catches his shoulders. Aches spread across his body. Whatever. He'll get over it. He considers walking out but he finds himself walking to where Chief is. He leans his back against the desk. Chief glances at him.

"Your belongings are back at the Muddy Rudder," Chief says. Butch nods, heart swelling at the thought of getting his switchblade again. Chief turns back to the report on the table; he knows it's a report because it's written on the top. His hair is dry now but it's messy as hell.

"I can fix that for you, y'know," he says, pointing at the hair. "I'm a barber." Chief leans his head back and Butch catches a glimpse of the muscles in his throat as he swallows. The motion is easy, unafraid, like this exchange happens every day. Like Butch is not some outsider.

"Is that what you're going to do in Rivet City?" The question catches him off-guard. A few hours ago, he had been standing on the fence between getting thrown out and running. Now, Chief is asking him as though he's staying here for a while. Like he belongs here already. Something must've shown on his face because Chief straightens up and there's this small smile on his face. This close, Butch notes that Chief's eyes are a bright blue. Strange. He's always thought they're a dark grey. Maybe it's the light. "You just saved the ship. Of course, you get to stay."

"Sure," Butch replies, only just managing to stop the emotion from getting into his voice. He clears his throat, combing his hands through his hair. "I was a barber before I left the vault." He zips up his jacket. "And I left because it ain't a safe place no more," he adds, answering the question he didn't last night.

"Out here's worse, isn't it?" Chief asks, curious. Butch has a good answer for it, for all the times he had to hide and fight… But last night, he had just been interrogated. Last night, the security chief actually listened to him. They found the truth and got the bad guy. Last night, he spent the night on a bed in this room. And it wasn't protocol. Staring at him, Butch realises that maybe he's the one who got it all wrong in the first place.

"Nah, not really." Maybe there's such a thing as 'safe' after all. He stands up to leave. When he reaches the door, Chief calls out.

"Stay out of trouble, DeLoria."

"Yeah? What if it finds me anyway?" Because it always does.

"Then you find me." Butch turns around at the door. He takes one last look at Chief before he steps out. That's… not his protocol. He wonders if in time, it can be.

**End. **


End file.
